Daily Diatribe

And I promised that this blog would be back to normal as well; things are still out of control a bit, and various things haven’t resolved themselves yet- I have had trouble finding time to get on the pop, let alone saunter around the wilds of the blogosphere.

Life can be a real shit sandwich at times.

Speaking of which, the prospect of an odure bagel has me salivating, as I’m 3 hours into the Malaria Fast- if you haven’t coughed up yet, there’s plenty of time. Surely you’ve wanted to kidnap some fat bastard, stuff them in a bamboo cage and torture them by scoffing cream buns and pies in front of them- well now’s your chance to do so on-line!

I’m fading away to a shadow at the moment, and considering emulating Horace’s episode of autophagia- I reckon I could afford to lose a few fingers and toes without permament ill effect. Even Armin Meiwes would have to move pretty quickly at the moment to be the diner rather than the dinner; likewise the hounds had better be quick on their feet when I get home this evening, and hide until after 6pm.

Usually on a day such as this I’d be setting sail for the 18ft Skiff Club for a brace or more of schooners and a slab of lightly charred cow that’s bigger than Kim Beazleys abdominal cavity; instead I’m slumped in my chair with barely the energy to swat at the gathering clouds of blowflies anticipating a feast when I succumb to starvation.

No wonder the Mohommadan world is at times a trifle wacky- I’ve only been at this fasting caper for a few hours and I want to lay waste to Western Civilisation, and bloody Ramadam goes for weeks.

If I’ve the strength later there’s many reports to file, including an exclusive interview from Beaconsfield- stay tuned, and cough up some cash, you stingy sods- even if you don’t care about natives being infected with a hideous, debilitiating and often fatal parasite, kick in to torment we tubbies.